


don’t make me say ‘i told you so’

by tokyonightskies



Series: WidowReaper Week [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Style, F/M, Goodbyes, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Imprisonment, Post-Canon, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: It’s like couple’s therapy, he thinks sarcastically, only their shrink’s an omnic monk, there are cameras in every corner, half of Overwatch is watching their every move from a control room somewhere on base and they really didn’t sign up for this. Widowmaker – or Amélie? – starts to tremble so he reaches for her hand.“Greetings,” the omnic says in a voice that’s oddly warm and soothing. “How are you feeling today?”She raises her chin and looks the omnic dead in the eye; her long hair shines like wet silk in the white lighting. Gabriel sees Widowmaker in that steely resolve and squeezes her hand in recognition, inexplicably relieved that she’s here with him.“I just remembered Mondatta.”She smiles.





	don’t make me say ‘i told you so’

**Author's Note:**

> WidowReaper Week Day 7. Dénouement
> 
> every story has an ending, even theirs.

*

Under the harsh, white glare of the medical lights in the sorry excuse of a hospital room, the thick scarring on Jack’s face looks like the result of a run-in with a grizzly bear. Gabriel spaces out during the interrogation, imagining _he_ was the one who sank a set of sharp claws into Jack’s face and dragged them down to his chin.

“You’re not gonna be fucking court-martialed for this shit, Gabe—” and since when did his voice sound like someone set off a molotov cocktail down his throat? “—they’re thinking of sending you off to The Hague.”

He looks Jack straight in those big baby-blues and says sardonically, “Well look-y here at all the fucks I give.”

*

Hostility was to be expected and, to a certain extent even, _welcomed._ What Gabriel would prefer to go without is the infuriating mix of scientific curiosity and emotional culpability only doctor Angela Ziegler could pull off. She looks at him like he’s the firmaments of the earth and she’s Atlas herself, shouldering the burden of his existence.

But, he concedes begrudgingly, at least they’re on speaking terms.

“You requested an update on Amélie Lacroix’ rehabilitation process,” she states simply, sitting down on the only chair in the room.

He scoffs. “No, I _requested_ an explanation as to why the fuck you’re messing around with Widowmaker’s head.”

“I,” she pauses, frowns and corrects herself, “No… _Overwatch_ believes she can be saved.”

*

Gabriel’s been handed a stress ball to amuse himself with when he’s not subjected to intensive testing and interrogation sessions. He’s on his cot, one arm behind his head, throwing the ball towards the ceiling and catching it one-handedly. With a puff of air, the mechanical door to his hermetically-sealed room creaks open and the alarms blare throughout the hallway.

There’s only one culprit responsible, only one person capable to pull this off, he thinks as he staggers upright.

_Sombra_.

His bare feet touch the cold floor.

Sombra somehow managed to slip away during the confusion of the Overwatch raid and even more miraculously, managed to stay hidden from Overwatch’ expanding grasp.

Guess she meant it, then. They were friends.

*

The thought of escaping the Gibraltar base without Widowmaker wasn’t one worth entertaining, so Gabriel ghosts in wisps of nanoparticles through the corridors, searching for where they locked her up—or kept her _in observation_ as if her namesake made her wildlife. He’s aware that they’ll look for him there but it doesn’t deter him one bit.

She looks frighteningly small on the hospital cot. Her skin suffers from vitiligo.

“Are you Widowmaker? Or are you Amélie Lacroix?” Gabe asks as he sidles up her side, puts a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear and discovers her body temperature is on the human side.

“Both,” she answers softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “ _Neither.”_

*

McCree catches them huddled together in the shadowed corner, in a tangle of limbs, meaningful glances and stolen touches. If he’s apprehensive about breaking them apart, he does a good job of hiding it. He kicks the heel of his boot against the wall, the metal of his spur clinking like a coin in a glass. They both turn to look at him, eyes glinting in the dark like a cat’s.

“What?” Gabriel prompts, a blur of skin and shadow around Widowmaker’s shivering frame.

“Nothin’,” he responds easily. “A man once told me if you ain’t got nothin’ to say, just keep your mouth shut.”

Gabe barks out a laugh, remembering the occasion, and retorts, “Sounds like a motherfucking _genius_.”

*

Angela taps the butt of her pencil against her bottom lip and narrows her eyes as she compares the CAT scans on the whiteboard. The bright lights blend the curvature of her shoulders into the white background. Gabriel tries to roll around on the hospital bed but all the wiring makes it nearly impossible to move.

“Talon’s done excessive damage to her somatosensory cortex and amygdala,” she says matter-of-factly, as if that answers any questions he might’ve had.

He grunts, trying to ignore that his nose’s itching like crazy and mutters, “Did you bother asking her if she wants them fixed?”

There’s something heated to her voice when she says, “Amélie deserves a second chance.”

“But does _she_ want one?”

*

It’s like couple’s therapy, he thinks sarcastically, only their shrink’s an omnic monk, there are cameras in every corner, half of Overwatch is watching their every move from a control room somewhere on base and they really didn’t sign up for this. Widowmaker – or Amélie? – starts to tremble so he reaches for her hand.

“Greetings,” the omnic says in a voice that’s oddly warm and soothing. “How are you feeling today?”

She raises her chin and looks the omnic dead in the eye; her long hair shines like wet silk in the white lighting. Gabriel sees Widowmaker in that steely resolve and squeezes her hand in recognition, inexplicably relieved that she’s here with him.

_“_ I just remembered _Mondatta.”_

She smiles.

*

“Do you love Amélie?” Jack asked that time he brought him a pack of cigarettes.

Smoke curled between them, above the table. Gabe took another puff, munching on the filter to borrow a couple of split-seconds, so he could figure out how to say what he wanted to say. His reflection stared back at him in the long rectangular mirror behind Jack, looking positively demonic with those shreds of skin coming undone around his skull.

Gabe answered, “Amélie doesn’t want to be loved anymore.”

There was a beat of silence that seemed to drag on and on. Jack lit a cigarette.

“And Widowmaker?”

He rolled his eyes and ignored the stab in his chest.

“You’re gonna kill her off anyway.”

*

When Ana enters the room, she finds Gabriel sitting cross-legged on the floor, squeezing his stress ball in one fist. She wishes there weren’t this many medical lamps shining their harsh light down on him, because in the relative darkness, she could at least _pretend_ he was still normal, free from two extra pairs of eyes and sallow, corpse-like skin that slides loose around his flesh. A shaky breath escapes her when he raises his chin to look at her.

He cocks his head to the right. _What?_

Ana purses her lips, steels her voice for what she’s about to say.

“It’s Amélie, Reyes. She tried to hang herself with her bedsheets. Angela and Winston are monitoring her right now.”

*

“I wish Widowmaker was still here,” Amélie whispers against the spot just underneath his ear. “I’m so tired, Gabriel.”

Gabriel gingerly touches the imprint of the makeshift noose with his fingertips, a bruised purple that contrasts with her blue-spotted skin. Their time’s running out, he thinks and wraps his arms tight around her waist, presses his cheek to hers and closes his eyes.

“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty fucking tired too.”

She chuckles, but there’s not a trace of mirth to be found in her voice.

“I miss her too,” Gabe confesses then, in a hushed voice.

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she says, “I don’t want to be here, anymore.”

“Me neither,” he replies.

*


End file.
